


In a Time of Mourning

by Tsuki



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 02, Rough Sex, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuki/pseuds/Tsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It doesn’t take long for the white tower to feel like a mausoleum..." Roman and Peter seek comfort in each other after the events of Season 2. (Post-Season, spoilers for finale)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Time of Mourning

_"The grief that does not speak knits up the o'er wrought heart and bids it break.”  
― William Shakespeare_

…

It doesn’t take long for the white tower to feel like a mausoleum. Peter’s eyes graze over dead bodies and bloodstains, can still hear Shelley howling somewhere in rage and pain. Can still see the pool of blood near Norman’s body. But he doesn’t say anything. For a while, none of them do.

“That creature, it saved her from falling,” Destiny finally says. Roman and Peter both look up at her, the pregnant silence feeling broken with a sledgehammer. “It’ll probably keep her alive.”

Neither Peter nor Roman say a word. Destiny’s comment is no comfort. They make their way through empty walls as if on autopilot. Dr. Pryce meets them on the stairway, his face pale. He’s seen as much as they have, maybe more. “I will take care of the corpses,” Pryce says, his voice a near-whisper. “Your mother left a minor body count. We’ll have to come up with proper excuses for the guard’s families. And your uncle…”

“Later,” Roman spits out. The very act of speaking seems to pain him. “Just… later.”

The street feels surreal. Peter looks out to the horizon, visions of car lights over on the freeway feeling like a mockery, a sign that the world is continuing on despite the chaos in the tower.

Roman turns away from the white tower, his eyes meeting neither Peter’s nor Destiny’s, and begins to make his way toward his car.

“Come on,” Destiny says to Peter, her voice strained. “Let’s go home. Try to get some kind of sleep.”

The werewolf shakes his head in response. “I… I think I need to be with Roman right now.”

Roman’s feet pause on the pavement. He waits, listening in continued silence.

“Are you sure—?” Destiny’s tone is one of concern and wariness. Her eyes shift back and forth between her cousin and Roman.

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or something. I’ll see you.” Peter doesn’t look back at Destiny, just walks resolutely toward Roman and the car. 

The flat looks strangely undisturbed when they get there. Almost no evidence of the terror of the past few days. There should be some reminder. More blood splatter. More broken glass. But the windows have already been repaired, the blood erased with water and bleach. Only a few cracks in the wall from arrows and the broken keypad on Nadia’s room tell the story of what previously transpired.

Roman walks over the kitchen, pours a generous amount of Jameson’s into a glass, then holds the bottle up in a silent question.

“Just bring it all over,” Peter mutters. The words practically echo in the empty house.

They sit on the couch, knees almost touching as they take deep gulps of whiskey. They never turn on a light. They just sit in the dark, wrapping it around themselves like a blanket.

It’s been over a year since they mourned in solitude for Letha. But now, for Nadia, Peter knows that they should mourn together, but he’s not exactly sure how until Roman asks, “How are you?”

“Angry,” is what escapes Peter’s mouth. “Like I want to tear something apart.”

Roman’s laugh is bitter in response. He takes in another mouthful of whiskey. “Me too.”

The answer is nearly tangible. They turn to each other almost in unison, breaths heavy, bitter, and fast. It’s Roman who bridges the gap first, mouth crushing against Peter’s. Peter growls in response, pulling the _Upir_ violently towards him. They bite at each other’s lips, fuck their tongues into each other’s mouths.

This is not like the night they spent with Miranda—that was all hesitant questioning, soft reverence, and quiet apologies. This is anger and loss, fury and pain. Roman practically rips Peter’s shirt off of him, the strength of his hands near-bruising. Peter growls deep in his throat, teeth biting deep into the hollow of flesh where Roman’s shoulder meets his throat. They gasp against each other’s skin, reveling in the physical pain, hoping that it will block out the deep ache gnarled in their hearts.

Peter pushes Roman back against the couch, unbuckling the _Upir_ ’s pants so quickly that he accidentally cuts his palm on the edge of Roman’s belt. Roman groans at the smell of blood, his pupils expanding like black pools. He pulls Peter’s hand to his mouth, tonguing the scrape as he lifts his hips and lets Peter push his slacks down. They’re both panting heavily, desperate to keep moving, to not think about anything but heat and skin and sweat.

Roman fingers open the snaps on Peter’s jeans, pushing down the rough denim until the werewolf’s cock springs free, already hard, the head slick with pre-come. Roman slides down, biting roughly down Peter’s chest before grasping his hips and taking him deep into his mouth. Peter gasps, grabbing a thick handful of Roman’s blond hair and pulling hard. Roman responds with a rumbling hum in the back of his throat, one that causes Peter’s legs to tremble.

Finally, Roman pulls back. The sound of Peter’s cock slipping from his lips is wet and obscene. He lets Peter turn him roughly, pushing him onto the couch, his hands resting on the rigid back as his knees dig into the cushions.  

Peter spits on two of his fingers, rubbing them together to get some kind of coating before he presses one into Roman, followed by a second. The _Upir_ groans and pushes back, fucking himself on Peter’s fingers, his forehead resting against the couch’s rigid back. It doesn't take long before Roman is reaching behind him, pulling Peter closer, his expression pained and demanding.  

When Peter pushes in, they both moan loudly, the sound filling the emptiness of the room like smoke rising upward. Then they move, the slapping sound of skin on skin increasing, a crescendo. Peter presses his face against Roman’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of him before he reaches up and grasps his hand around the _Upir’_ s pale throat. Roman twitches and bucks, his cock jumping slightly at the firm pressure around his neck.

It’s Peter who reaches orgasm first, his hand releasing Roman’s throat as he trembles and comes with a shuddering cry. Roman groans and fists his own cock, pumping furiously. Roman’s cum splatters against the couch as Peter grasps his face and pulls him into a bruising kiss, all force and teeth. As their breathing steadies, the room becomes quiet once more.

By morning, they will both feel hollow again, the pain of Miranda and Nadia’s loss blossoming like a cancerous flower in their chests. But now, for a moment or two, the dark feels a little less oppressive. Now, as their breathing mingles in the cool apartment air, they both feel a little less lost.

 

 


End file.
